Stripped Bare
by ALC Punk
Summary: Kitty Pryde goes to school, but is it all it's cracked up to be? Or is she just cracking up when exposed to a less... savoury element.


Disclaimer: Kitty Pryde and Pete, Sam, Ororo, various people, belong to Marvel Entertainment, not I. Ralph and Mali are fictions, pure and simple, although Mali is based off my sister's stupid roommate. Washington University does not belong to me either. The ugly, unfinished, courthouse sucks, though. Meth, and its uses and attendant addictions and problems... Eh, I'll cover that in a moment. No money is made from this.  
  
Rating: R. A biiig R.  
  
Notes: This story began... over two years ago, when I was taking Psychodynamic Substances. Some of our discussions were fascinating. And Amphetmine Psychosis... Let's just say, it made me go "Oo!" The title comes from U2's "October", which I have this lovely cover of. Done by Rosetta Stone. Find it. Good song.  
  
Warning: This story deals with various things including drug addiction, sex, violence, death... It's not a pretty story.  
  
Stripped Bare  
by Ana Lyssie Cotton  
  
Now  
  
Blue lights flashed, syncopated and changeless. Over and over and over, they shone around her. Around them. Blinking lights. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.  
  
There was a voice. At least, she thought there was. It seemed to follow the cadence of the lights.  
  
"--right to remain silent. Anything you say can and may be used against you in a court of law."  
  
It was like hearing something from the middle of a great silence. From in the middle of a box of popcorn, or with cotton in your ears.  
  
He was cute, her mind decided. Not that it mattered. He was one of Them. Come to read her thoughts and then lock her away for them. They were everywhere. Wasn't that what she'd learned?  
  
"You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning."  
  
Questions, always questions. Who do you work for? What's your sign? Are you feeling well today?  
  
Echoes of people, echoes of things in her head. There was something wrapped around her wrists.  
  
"If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense."  
  
Blood. Dimly, she realised there was blood on her hands. It spattered her arms. The only break was the silvery glint of the handcuffs.  
  
As in a dream, she suddenly heard her name called.  
  
"Kitty. Kitty, Kitty, Kitty--"  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
"--Pryde!"  
  
With a start, Kitty Pryde jerked awake. Guiltily she glanced up at professor Ford. That irritated looking man was currently glaring at her. "Sir?"  
  
"I asked a simple question, Pryde. I expected at least a mildly intelligent answer out of you. Instead, I received a snore." He glanced around at the rest of his class. "Apparently, I'm not as much fun as late-night tv."  
  
The class, mainly college-age students, though a few of a slightly older bracket, chuckled uncomfortably. Kitty winced and hunched in her seat. "Sorry, sir. What was the question?"  
  
"No, no, don't worry, I won't make you answer. Instead, I'm assigning you a second research paper. Miss Pryde, you are to find out the reasons why students cannot stay awake in class. I want it twelve pages long, with five sources, and a bibliography." He smiled, "Don't forget the title page."  
  
Biting her lip against the retort she felt, Kitty nodded, "Yes sir."  
  
"It's due in one week."  
  
ONE WEEK? Her mind screamed at her. Her mouth dropped open, and she gaped, "One week, sir?"  
  
"Yes. One week." He strode back to his desk and waved a hand, "It's almost time for class to be over. Dismissed."  
  
Kitty sat in her chair, still stunned. Around her the room became filled with chatter from her fellow students. A few shot her sympathetic glances, most ignored her.  
  
Twelve pages, five sources, one week. The phrases echoed through her head. She had one week. And in that time, she would produce twelve pages, five sources, and two other five-page papers. On top of two mid-terms, seven classes, and a Bio lab.  
  
"I'm going to die." She muttered, standing and gathering her papers. A quick shove stuffed them into the dark-green backpack, and she was ready to go. "I'm going to die, and then I'll come back and haunt the campus."  
  
Kitty had once led a secret life as Shadowcat, a member of the X-Men. She'd decided to go to college and get her degree earlier that year. It had been a decision that Professor Xavier, her mentor, teacher and friend, had supported. So he'd helped her to get established as a 'real' person. She'd taken the GED and bounced into college from there. One semester at the local community college in New York, and then she'd applied to several high-ranking schools.  
  
Washington University, in St. Louis, Missouri, had accepted her into their Computer Science program. So Kitty had packed her bags, kissed her loved ones, and flown away to live in a tiny dorm room with a girl who liked to float. Or take drugs. Whatever the parlance was these days.  
  
Still, it was great, exciting, Kitty felt alive for the first time in a long time. She was learning, she was making her way in the world, and she was heading for the library.  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
Flickering blue lights still. And the smell of blood. It was coming from her hands. At least she thought it was. that was the logical place for it to come from.  
  
Blood on my hands, steel on my wrists. It sounds like a bad country-western song, she thought morbidly.  
  
"Ms. Pryde?"  
  
She blinked, focussing on the man in uniform. A wave of something like fear passed over her. "What?"  
  
"You need to get in the car, ma'am." He looked calm, a bit worried about her maybe.  
  
"Oh." She realised that she was sitting, so she stood. It took her a moment to figure out why the world was tilting. I'm falling, and I can't get up.  
  
"Gotcha." Strong arms caught her, wrapped around her. "Legs asleep, I bet."  
  
"Sleep. Yeah." I'm not connecting properly, am I? The thought ran through her mind that she was supposed to be standing. There was a car she was supposed to get in.  
  
A car. She looked towards where the arms were taking her, stumbling as the curb got in the way. The blue flashing lights came from on top of it. Blinding her rythmically as they moved.  
  
Police car. Police car. Police car, her mind announced, as the lights blinked. "You're putting me in that?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I won't go." Paranoia flashed through her, galvanizing her legs. She stood on her own power and pulled against the man. "You can't make me. I won't!"  
  
"Miss, you--"  
  
She shoved an elbow in his sternum and he oofed. "Let me go!"  
  
Hands caught her arms, not his. Others. She glared at them, screamed at them. "Let me go, let me go!"  
  
"Hold her!"  
  
Movement, everywhere. They fought her, she fought back, kicking and screaming and punching with doubled fists. Half-remembered training sessions with Logan surfaced, and she whirled under this fist and slashed at that leg.  
  
They forced her to the ground eventually. Her hands caught under her body, held together in cuffs that scraped her wrists leaving raw bloody trails. They cuffed her ankles, then released the wrists, yanking them behind her and recuffing them there. A chain was attached between the ankle cuff and wrist cuff, it ran through, holding them together lightly. And still she fought, thrashing.  
  
It took four of them to haul her up and toss her into the car. Mindless now, she still writhed, still tried to break free.  
  
And then she did.  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
"Hey, Kit!"  
  
Kitty turned and stumbled, nearly dropping the stack of books she carried. "Ralph! Dammit, I nearly lost my books!"  
  
He grinned amiably and reached out, snagging half the stack. "What's this?"  
  
"Ford." She replied glumly.  
  
He grinned, teeth showing whitely against the reddish beard he'd acquired recently. Ralph Dee, as he liked to call himself, was six feet of male mischief, accompanied by red hair, beard, and for all Kitty knew, toe hair. "Ah. I'd heard from Ugenia that something happened."  
  
Kitty snorted and turned to open the door to her dorm, "I'm sure you did--mind the step."  
  
"Hey, what's a friend for but to snoop out every aspect of your life, eh, Kit?" Ralph said cheerfully.  
  
"Huh." She replied, then was silent as they climbed the steps to the fourth floor. Her room was the fifth in the middle of the hall. The door stood open. Kitty shoved it against the wall and walked in, tripping over a pair of boots. For a moment she flailed, then regained her balance. "MALI!"  
  
"Huh?" A head appeared from the mound of blankets and clothing on the bed furthest from the window.  
  
"Mali, your boots are in the middle of the fricking floor again." Kitty announced impatiently. She slammed the books down on the tiny desk and turned, nearly knocking Ralph over.  
  
"Kitty?" A hand came up to rub the eyes. "Sorry."  
  
"Hey, Mali."  
  
"Ralph." Mali Purcell brightened. "Dude, you got anything?"  
  
"Not on me."  
  
"Damn."  
  
Kitty glared at the both of them, "I don't need to hear this. I don't want to know. If you're going to do drugs, don't fucking do it in my room."  
  
"Hey, Kit, hon, it's not drugs. It's caffeine pills."  
  
With a snort, Kitty rolled her eyes, "Pull the other one, it's got bells. Don't you guys know what that shit will do?"  
  
"Aw, Kitty, don't be such a square." Mali shrugged as she stood. Five inches taller than Kitty, Mali's hair was currently a bright pink. A tiny blue rose decorated her left nostril. Understated when compared to the seven shiny things in her ear.  
  
They'd had this argument before. Kitty objecting, and her roommate finally agreeing to smoke in someone else's room. Kitty sighed, "Forget it. I've got a ton of things to study. Why don't you two go away, and leave me be."  
  
"Ford laid down the Wrath on Kit." Ralph explained as he flopped onto the bed Mali wasn't currently sitting on.  
  
"Old Blow-hard Ford, huh. Poor thing." Mali said sympathetically, "You need anything, Kitty? Something to drink?"  
  
"No. I need silence, thanks." She groaned and dropped into the rickety wooden desk chair. It gave a similar groan and creaked. "I have a week," She announced, burying her head in her hands.  
  
"For what?" Mali asked.  
  
"Until my death." Kitty replied, muffled.  
  
"Aw, it can't be that bad, Kit. Always look on the bright side, and all that."  
  
She raised her head and glared at Ralph, "YOU don't have a twelve-page essay, WITH five sources, due in one week. For no one so esteemed as Professor Bloody Ford!"  
  
"And you've got mid-terms, and two other papers," Mali reminded her.  
  
"Yes." Kitty buried her head again, rubbing her thumbs along her temples.  
  
"Damn. You're not going to get any sleep."  
  
"Mali, I'm well aware of this. Oh, God, I'm going to be toast."  
  
"Nah, Kit, I'll make sure you get lots of caffeine and sugar--brain food, y'know."  
  
"Ralph..." Kitty looked at him, her eyebrow raised, "Caffeine and sugar are NOT brain food."  
  
"They're what keep the average college student alive."  
  
"And studying. You remember, Kitty, me cramming for my Algebra test two weeks ago?" Mali shrugged, "This is no different."  
  
"Yeah." Kitty narrowed her eyes at Ralph. "Ralph gave you some pep pills, and you wandered around like a zombie for two days."  
  
"Well, it happens," Ralph said, "Especially when certain people overdose themselves."  
  
Mali glared at him, "I did not!"  
  
"Yes, m'dear, you did." Ralph rolled off the bed and stood, "Anyway, lovely ladies, I must dash. Things to buy, places to rent, people to sell."  
  
"Bye, Ralph."  
  
"Bye, butthead."  
  
He paused in the doorway, and sniffled sadly, "Ah, my lovely Mali, that you would wound me so."  
  
"Get stuffed."  
  
Kitty snickered and then turned to her books and sighed. "Right. Time to crack these."  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
"Holy shit! She's a mutant!"  
  
"Fuck!"  
  
"Did you see that, she just fell *out* of the God-damned car!"  
  
On the ground, Kitty curled, trying to free her hands. There was a trick to it, she knew there was. Just like there'd been a trick to getting out of the car.  
  
"Someone call dispatch. Tell them to send out one of the vans!"  
  
"Yeah, and meanwhile we're stuck with her."  
  
"Raving loony, she is."  
  
I am not. Kitty flexed her mind and then rolled to her feet, the manacles left behind. "I am perfectly sane, gentlemen. Now, who are you, and where am I?"  
  
"Miss?"  
  
"I know you, don't I?" Kitty stared at him, confused. He was cute, and familiar, as if--a memory flashed through her mind 'you have the right to remain...' "Oh, shit."  
  
"Don't move, please."  
  
"Listen to me, you're--" Her voice choked as she finally registered the uniforms. "You're the police. I've--you've arrested me, haven't you. Why?"  
  
"Miss, you need to get in the car and come down to the station with us."  
  
"No." She said softly, staring at the car. Fear was in her eyes, running through her blood. It pounded, demanding she run away. Escape.  
  
"Please."  
  
She turned to him slowly, watching his face as it was lit on and off by flickering blue light. He looked sad and worried and kind. As if something big had happened to them all that night. She noticed that a small dark line dripped from his nose. "I did that."  
  
He blinked and raised a hand to touch the line, wiping away the blood with a wince. "Yes."  
  
"I'm not normally violent."  
  
"Please get in the car, Miss Pryde."  
  
"It's Kitty." She tilted her head to the side, "Are you one of Them?"  
  
"One of who?"  
  
"Them. Y'know, the ones who are helping the aliens take over the planet." She leaned closer to him and whispered, "I've fought Them before. They won't win."  
  
"Miss..."  
  
"Sir." One of the other men in uniform came up to them, "Dispatch is asking why we haven't brought her in yet."  
  
"I'm not going in that."  
  
The man turned away and called something incomprehensible to one of the other men. That man nodded and jogged over to one of the other cars. He came back and tossed a canister at the man.  
  
"I'm a little teapot, short and stout, here is my handle, here is my spout," Kitty sang softly. She whirled around, half-dancing.  
  
"Miss Pryde?"  
  
She looped back to the cute man in uniform, "Yes?"  
  
He lashed out, his hand wrapping around her face, the cloth in it covering her nose and mouth. "Just breathe, miss."  
  
For an instant, she breathed in, choking on the handkerchief's fumes. This was not nice of him. And here she thought he'd be able to help her. A sense of dislocation wrapped around her mind, reminding her of the fist time she stayed up for 49 hours straight.  
  
"That wasn't very nice," She said as she finished phasing her hand into his chest. "I can't see now. I can't even... feel."  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
"DAMMIT, Ralph! FUCK!"  
  
The redheaded thespian jumped away from the suddenly flailing arms of Kitty Pryde. "What's up, m'dear?"  
  
"I lost it!" She suddenly slumped to her knees in front of him. "It's gone. All of it."  
  
Ralph stared around Kitty's dorm room, spotting Mali huddled in her normal mound of blankets. The place looked like a whirlwind had hit it. "Kit, you've been slaving over those papers a long while. When's the last time you slept?"  
  
She stared up at him, dark circles under her eyes, "Sleep? I can't sleep. Especially now." A tear leaked out and slid down one slightly gray cheek. "My disk is gone. The whole paper, all the notes and sources for the bibliography--it's gone. It will never be done in time."  
  
"Kit, you've got to relax. The paper will write itself."  
  
"It didn't the first time."  
  
"Hey, trust me."  
  
She narrowed her eyes and snorted, "Yeah. About as far as I can jump on the sun."  
  
"I'm hurt," He swooned dramatically, collapsing onto her bed with a tragic groan.  
  
A small giggle escaped Kitty.  
  
"'A hit, a palpable hit'," he quoted, rolling over and falling off the bed. He hit the floor with a muffled thud.  
  
Kitty choked, then began laughing at the look on his face. He appeared terribly offended with someone. As if he wasn't supposed to ever fall on his face.  
  
"I am wounded, forsooth."  
  
"Ralph..." Mali was leaning over the side of her bed, glaring at him, "Keep it down you big Shakespearean lummox."  
  
"I am rubbing off on you." He grinned. He turned on his back and waved to Kitty, who was still giggling, "And how are you now, sweet fairy?"  
  
"Fairy?"  
  
"Well, elfin sprite, then."  
  
A blink answered him, suspicion flaring in the dark brown eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by bemusement. "Kat, if you please. I have not wings, nor a pointed ear."  
  
Ralph chuckled, "Feeling better, Kit?"  
  
"Yes, actually." She stood and bent forward, wincing as her back and neck popped. "Ow."  
  
He pulled himself to his knees and waddled towards her, "Wouldst milady like a backrub?"  
  
"That sounds great, actually." She dropped to the floor, crossing her legs indian-style. Within minutes, she was flopped over her knees as competent hands found and kneeded away the knots her back had held for hours and hours. Almost drowsy, she sighed. "Feels nice."  
  
"Kit, babe. When's your next exam?" Mali sounded unconcerned as she flopped down next to her.  
  
"Mmmm. Don't have any left. Just the paper. What time is it?"  
  
Mali craned her head, "2:30, Sunday afternoon."  
  
Another sigh escaped Kitty. "I have 19 and a half hours until my paper is due. It took me five days to write. How the hell am I going to do it?"  
  
"You'll just have to stay awake." Ralph patted her back. "I'll go make a coffee run. And you should eat."  
  
"I don't think there's any food here," She straightened slowly, wishing she could just fall into bed and forget it all. "And what about my computer?"  
  
"Brent could loan you his laptop," Mali volunteered. Brent was her current boytoy, and tended to do everything she said. He also had way too many computers.  
  
"Could you ask him?"  
  
Kitty knew she sounded pathetic, but there wasn't much she could do about it. Ford had made it clear she was going to do badly in his class. And she needed a 4.0 to maintain her scholarship.  
  
"Yeah. You just stay here and try to get your notes together."  
  
"Good plan."  
  
The two left, leaving Kitty to wonder what she'd done to get such nice people for friends. If she could ignore the drug thing, they were both cool people. Mali might be a *little* slobbish, but it wasn't anything worse than rooming with Rachel had been. For a moment her mouth smiled, remembering late night talks, and early morning grumbles. A wash of sadness touched her, then, bittersweet. Rachel Summers was gone, of course, swept up into the timestream like so much detritus. It was impossible Kitty would ever see her best friend again.  
  
Standing, she walked to the desk and began sorting through hastily scribbled notes and books. Some of it was interviews she'd had with a professor or two, and a few students. After all, sources *could* come from real people. And it had helped to give her more examples.  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
Professor Charles Xavier looked over the newspaper clippings, a sense of sadness filling him. That young Katherine could have fallen to this! It was unthinkable, and yet it had happened. His school had not been enough, in the end.  
  
He moved from behind his desk to stare out the window of his study. Below him the grass was being cut, Remy LeBeau industriously flirting with Rogue as she swatted at him while riding the mower. The flowers around the edge were being carefully tended by Ororo Munroe, her hands buried in the dirt. He could have hired landscapers to do the job, but the younger X-Men seemed more than happy to do it.  
  
Watching them, he wondered how easy it would be for them to slip, as Katherine had. How simple to fall into a stupor of drugs and sex and alcohol.  
  
Rogue, for all her happiness, couldn't touch without absorbing a person's self. Remy had once been a thief. Ororo, a Goddess. What must it be like, to be normal?  
  
And the rest of his X-Men, how might they fall, given the chance?  
  
Ororo glanced up at his window, as if sensing his regard. For a moment, their eyes locked, and even from this distance, she seemed to sense his unrest. A moment later she had taken to the air, gliding up to him.  
  
He opened the window to let her in, and she settled gracefully on the sill. "Charles, you look pensive."  
  
"I feel old, Ororo." He handed her the newspaper. "As if I have accomplished nothing."  
  
She read silently, her white hair slipping forward to be pushed back in gentle impatience. Her lips flattened into a line, wrinkles around her eyes appearing as if it hurt to understand what lay on the printed page. Finally, she looked up at him. There were tears in her eyes. "Can it be true?"  
  
"I'm not entirely certain, but the fact that it's printed in a fairly reputable paper suggests yes."  
  
Ororo stood, "I shall begin packing for St. Louis immediately."  
  
"I'm not certain that is wise." He steepled his fingers, staring into nowhere.  
  
"I do not need your consent," She replied frostily, dropping the newspaper on her desk as she strode to the door.  
  
"No." He sighed, "But you have it. Be careful, Ororo."  
  
"I shall." She glanced at him, a tear slipping down her cheek. "And my Kitten. What of her?"  
  
"Do what you must."  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
It had taken 18 of the 19 hours to type up the paper, edit it, re-edit it, make sure every footnote was in place, and print it out in the computer lab. Kitty had no clue how she'd done it, but she had. Maybe it was Ralph's "special coffee". He claimed to brew it from already brewed coffee. It *was* somewhat harsh... If she'd had the time, she might have been slightly more suspicious.  
  
But she'd been awake for over 40 hours, and her paper was finished. It didn't matter.  
  
The paper was turned in, and Ford almost seemed like he might approve of it. Kitty didn't care, though. All she wanted was sleep. Not caring about things for just this once, she cut the rest of her classes and went back to the dorm room. Mali wasn't there, which made her slightly grateful, since she didn't think she could carry on a coherent conversation, much less form the words, "Sod off."  
  
Pete had taught her that, she remembered muzzily as she stripped, dropping her clothes in a heap to the floor. Didn't matter, really. The bed was right--there. With a groan, she flopped onto it, barely managing to pull the sheet around her before sleep took her away.  
  
Her dreams were especially vivid--color whirled through them, people laughed madly. At one point, she was back in the Xavier Mansion, wandering through the halls until she came to the living room. Everyone was there, even Rachel. And they were all laughing and talking, normally. It was all very nice, except that there was a shark in the room, people were sitting on it like it was a couch while it munched its way through some of the younger mutants, including Jubilee and Paige Guthrie.  
  
It worried her that they didn't seem to notice this huge mechanical shark eating people. But, then, maybe it was because they were all eating asparagus, and everyone knows asparagus is the vegetable of the devil.  
  
She slipped into a deeper sleep after the shark had eaten Bobby, his blood sliding messily all over the carpet. It would be a bitch to get out.  
  
Around midnight, she woke up enough to recognise Mali, snoring on the other side of the room, and fell back into another dream, this one less disturbing.  
  
Four am found her in the bathroom, losing whatever was in her stomach. There wasn't much. Sitting on the cool tile, head propped against the plastic wall, Kitty wondered tiredly what was wrong, but decided it was probably stress.  
  
With one last flush of the toilet, she crawled to her feet and staggered over to the sinks. She ignored her reflection with practised ease, knowing it wouldn't be pretty. A rinse with stale-tasting water didn't help matters much, but she decided she didn't care. A splash of cool water on her face, and she began a shambling walk back to her room.  
  
The halls were eerily silent, everyone either asleep or just not there. Her footsteps slapped on the hardwood floor, the sounds echoing up into the stairwells.  
  
Kitty shut the door to her room and leaned against it a moment before making her unsteady way back to the bed. Her clock glared redly at her, proclaiming it to be 4:20 a.m. She looked at it for a time before sliding the alarm bar into the On position. It wouldn't do to sleep through her morning class.  
  
Curling back up, she wondered vaguely what she'd been dreaming about, and then sleep slithered over her again, and all thought was lost.  
  
--  
  
Life fell into a pattern, then. With mid-terms behind them, the campus settled down to party righteously. Kitty even let herself be dragged to a few in-between papers and homework. She had decided to take as many classes as possible, to catch up. At the end of this semester, she would be a sophomore. With the credits from a few of the classes she'd taken at Xavier's transferring over, this was a good thing. She could get her degree in 3 and a half years instead of 4. Or even 3, if she really pushed.  
  
Checking into her options, she decided to take summer classes. With them, she would certainly get out in 3 years. And then on to her graduate degree.  
  
She also wouldn't have to go back to the Mansion, this way. It was better. Cleaner. She could move on, have this new life to herself. She called her mother once a month, chatted about nothing. Classes were fine, life was great.  
  
The empty small-talk of people who didn't know each other any more. Kitty had mentioned coming up over Spring Break, and was told it wouldn't be convenient.  
  
Still, she had Ralph and Mali, and their whole gang to run around with that week. Kitty convinced them to go to Atlanta.  
  
They had a blast, staying out all night, and terrorising the natives at 4am. Kitty came back from it feeling like she'd never forget it. Classes felt silly and boring, but she still worked at them, vaguely remembering that there was the whole 'graduate' thing to come.  
  
But the week before finals, she was jolted back into reality. Three of her professors were expressing sadness that she was failing, and told her if she didn't do well on the final, she'd be flunked out of the program. The rest had been giving her concerned notes on her papers, asking her why she hadn't tried harder. Ford seemed complaisant, as if she was proving him right.  
  
Kitty came back from his class on Thursday and just flopped onto her bed, not caring.  
  
"'s up?" Mali asked sleepily.  
  
"I'm failing."  
  
"You sound almost dramatic enough to be in the drama club."  
  
"I am, though." Kitty sighed. "I haven't studied for a month. And now I have finals. How am I going to keep my scholarship if I drop my GPA? What about the program? My adviser told me I had to keep it up. I'm not." She turned over to stare at Mali. "I'm a failure."  
  
"So? Study the rest of the week. I'll even let you out of the party this Friday."  
  
"But I have a month of reading! When will I sleep?"  
  
"Maybe Ralph will make you his special coffee again."  
  
Something in the edge of Mali's voice made Kitty look at her harder, "What do you mean?"  
  
"It kept you up last time, didn't it?"  
  
"Well.... Yes." She groaned. "Call him."  
  
Mali picked up the phone and dialed while Kitty dragged herself over to the desk. Her books were stacked on it haphazardly, some of them collecting dust. She had notes, somewhere. Booting up her computer, she moaned, realising there were at least four papers due. "I wonder if they grant extensions?"  
  
"Probably not with a full grade."  
  
"Great." She flopped into the chair. "I'm a failure."  
  
"Stop talking like that."  
  
"But it's true."  
  
"Not yet, it isn't. Ah, Ralph! Kitty needs coffee. She has a month of reading to do. Yup." She set the receiver down, "I'll go get some food. You, start reading."  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
Grey walls, cold chairs. The floor looked more comfortable, even if it was concrete. Someone had puked, missing the tiny toilet in the corner. Didn't matter, really.  
  
Kitty fought down another wave of nauseau and concentrated breathing through her mouth. I will not throw up.  
  
Not that there was anything there, really. She hadn't been eating well the last several weeks. She winced as her stomach clenched, suddenly ravenous. A nice, thick slab of bread topped with warm creamy butter. It would taste so good, wipe away the stench of blood.  
  
The hard edge of the collar around her neck was cold, and she reached up to move it slightly, wishing it didn't have to be there.  
  
They hadn't told her anything, yet. Just snapped the collar on her, and recuffed her. Dragged her downtown to dump in this ugly little cell. Maybe they just hoped she'd freeze to death. Stupid little mutant bitch, one of them had said. Why couldn't you just overdose and save us all this trouble?  
  
"Because I didn't," She mumbled, wondering where they were. One of them had said something about interrogation. Of course, there were enough witnesses that, really, they could just give her the chair.  
  
She'd phased a man's heart out of his chest.  
  
There was no getting away from that memory. The feel of the muscle, beating in her hand, blood slick on her fingers. He'd looked so surprised to see it. She'd offered it to him, tried to put it back. Too late. It was all too late.  
  
You can't put something back when you can't see what you're doing. When you're not a surgeon. It had been luck to get it out.  
  
He'd died at her feet, surprise still in his blue eyes.  
  
She hadn't resisted when one of them hit her. And another and another, shock and fear in their eyes and voices.  
  
Kitty whimpered, wishing the ache in her chest would go away. To go back just twelve hours. If there was ever a time to be able to redo something, this was it. She'd go back, never--  
  
The door swung inwards, scattering her thoughts.  
  
"Come with us, miss."  
  
"OK." She fought down a sob and stood, legs not wanting to hold her up. But they did. "Where are we going?"  
  
"The medical examiner and CSI need to look you over."  
  
"Ah." This was at least better than being hit again.  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
"What the hell?" Kitty dodged the thrown coffee mug. It shattered behind her. She stared at Mali. "What was that for?"  
  
"For bitching and moaning, and then passing everything FINE!"  
  
"Well, fuck you, too."  
  
"Bitch."  
  
"Shrew."  
  
They stopped, then began giggling. Kitty flopped on Mali's bed and whapped her with the pillow. "I almost didn't pass, though."  
  
"You did, though." Mali snickered, "With the help of Coffee."  
  
"Ralph's Coffee is of the Strong."  
  
"It better be, with what he puts in it."  
  
"He told me."  
  
Mali looked at her, surprised, "He did?"  
  
"Yep. Said he brew one pot, then changed the grounds and used the already-brewed coffee as the water. Apparently, the last pot was five pots in one."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Kitty looked at her intently, "It's not nothing. What?"  
  
"Erm... Ralph's coffee...."  
  
"Ye-es?"  
  
"It's got meth in it."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Crystal. Speed?" Mali sighed and pushed her dark hair back from her face. "Look, he doesn't put a lot in, but it's enough to give you a buzz, y'know? And the more you drink, the more it helps. And, hey, you got through the week from hell, didn't you?"  
  
Kitty just stared at her, her jaw loose. "I.... He gave me DRUGS?!"  
  
"Sort of."  
  
"In coffee."  
  
"Yeah. It's his special recipe."  
  
"Great." She flopped on the bed, more tired than upset. "So, will I be addicted now?"  
  
"Nah. You'll just feel.... less intelligent, I think that's how I heard it put."  
  
"O. K."  
  
"Anyway. Don't yell at him, I wasn't supposed to say anything."  
  
"Riiight."  
  
Mali shrugged, "I just thought you should know. Knowing, y'know, how you feel and all." She stood and began rummaging for her boots.  
  
"The fact that I hate drugs and make you go smoke somewhere else.... yeah." Kitty shifted to her side and looked at her roommate. "If I kill him, will you be upset?"  
  
"Only if you get blood on my stuff."  
  
Kitty half-smiled, "I'll try to do it somewhere else, then."  
  
"And don't get caught."  
  
--  
  
Kitty finally ran Ralph to ground behind the library, communing with the trees there. He seemed unaware of her approach, sprawled on his back, arms spread wide as he talked to them. Shakespeare, from the cadence. Hamlet, from the words.  
  
"'..take arms against a sea of troubles'." He opened one eye and smiled up at Kitty, "My fair lady, how goes the day?"  
  
"Badly, for you." She glared down at him, considering phasing a brick into his head. "You gave me drugs."  
  
"Yes, and?"  
  
"Without my consent."  
  
"I believe I remember Mali saying, and I quote, 'Kitty needs some of your special coffee'." He sat up. "I took that as consent."  
  
"I didn't know there was speed in it!" She kicked him in the side, surprised when all he did was oof softly.  
  
"Do you mind, this shirt was clean this morning."  
  
"Fuck your shirt."  
  
He looked up at her, interest in his gaze, "I'd rather you fucked me."  
  
She went red, surprised at the feeling that stirred along her spine. "I--"  
  
"OK. Not the most gracious proposals, I'll try again." He stood, then bowed, "Wouldst m'lady grant me dinner at a local eatery?"  
  
"You're ridiculous."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Kitty fought her confusion and anger and irritation down to manageable levels. "I don't think that's a good idea."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"You lied to me."  
  
He shook his head, "You never asked what was in it."  
  
"You said it was just coffee!"  
  
A sigh escaped him. "This could go on all year, Kat."  
  
"How can I trust you?"  
  
"I'm not asking you to."  
  
She blinked, shivered. And wondered what the hell was wrong with the sun above them. One moment she felt hot, the next, cold. "Why?"  
  
"You are a lovely, intelligent woman. Isn't that reason enough?"  
  
"Lovely my ass."  
  
"That part is particularly luscious." He leered, bending sideways to peer behind her.  
  
She hit him, a gentle smack that brought him back straight. "Don't be ridiculous."  
  
"You're the one using violence as the answer to everything."  
  
"Fine. I never want to speak to you."  
  
"Never?"  
  
"Never."  
  
"You just did."  
  
She glared at him.  
  
"Don't hit me, I'm cute?"  
  
"Idiot."  
  
"Wanna go out for dinner?"  
  
"You asked that already."  
  
"You've never answered." He tilted his head to the side, smirking. "I've been told I'm a very good conversationalist."  
  
"No you're not."  
  
"Yes I am."  
  
"No you're--look, this is stupid."  
  
"We could be sitting down, sipping a little wine, deciding what to eat. Pasta sounds good, how about you?"  
  
"You don't give up, do you."  
  
"Not when the woman is so wonderful."  
  
She blushed again. "Stop that."  
  
"You're so cute when you do that."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Make me."  
  
Kitty snorted, "I'd have to gag you."  
  
"Well, you could always kiss me."  
  
The notion had a momentary appeal, but she shoved that away and folded her arms. She didn't want to hit him, either. "No."  
  
"After dinner, then?"  
  
"I'm not going to dinner with you, Ralph."  
  
"Aw, why not?"  
  
"Because you're irritating, you gave me drugs, and your coffee sucks."  
  
"Pah. Silly reasons. What about the fact that I'm so studly and cuddly, and I have an extensive vocabulary?"  
  
"Doesn't matter."  
  
"And I like making you blush."  
  
"I've noticed."  
  
He smirked, "So, even though I think you have a cute ass, you don't want to go out with me."  
  
"No." Kitty fought the blush off, "And stop that."  
  
"Never." He stepped forward and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, "In fifty years, when you're old and grey, and still gorgeous, I'll still make you blush."  
  
"Bastard."  
  
"I have it on good authority my parents were both married.... Not to each other, but I'm certain they were married."  
  
She leaned into his side and slid an arm around his waist. "You suck."  
  
"I also swallow."  
  
"WAY Too much information, idiot."  
  
"On a first date? You're correct."  
  
"Who said I was going?"  
  
He looked down at her. "You've got your arm around my waist, and you haven't hit me."  
  
"Oh."  
  
There were times--late at night, when she lay curled in Ralph's arms--that she wondered if following her first instinct might have been best. A quick brick through the brain, and no more trust issues. But life was never that simple.  
  
Of course, Jubilee's infrequent emails always mocked her for choosing a guy named Ralph.  
  
"...C'mon, Kit, RALPH? Dude, I knew you had no taste. Now I'm certain..."  
  
Her reply had been amused, and not a little smug about the sex. It sometimes surprised her that she and Jubilee were so close. Maybe it was just the medium of the email. No face to face contact. No having to lie.  
  
With finals over, the students of Washington University bent their energies to massive parties--some of them for graduation, others for just the end of the school year. Kitty found herself swept along to many of them, Ralph at her side. Quite a few girls shot her jealous looks. A few of them even attempted to badmouth her. Ralph usually responded by destroying their reputations.  
  
It was mildly amusing.  
  
She stayed over the break with Mali, frequently trading off rooms with Ralph and Mali's current fling. They also looked for an apartment close to campus. She liked the idea of her own place, even if she shared it with Mali and Ralph. They were nice kids. Besides, Mali had promised to never smoke weed inside.  
  
By the time the summer semester started, they had a place. Mali scoffed at the idea of summer classes, and spent her days lounging around. Ralph did whatever he did, Kitty never really asked, although she guessed some of it was supplying a lot of the drugs that ran around campus.  
  
She'd tried to get him to stop, and he'd just chuckled, saying it was who he was. Nothing he sold was any more harmful than alcohol, and was frequently more useful. Like the speed that kept you awake and focussed for long periods of time.  
  
As midsummer approached, she found herself taking small amounts of speed. For all-night cramming sessions, or the weekend of Studying Hell that was one social sciences paper.  
  
It never seemed to do much except make her focus more. And, of course, stay awake. It wasn't addictive, it wasn't hurting...  
  
Kitty found it insidious, sometimes. She'd be fine, but crave food so badly that she'd find herself walking the sidewalks of Delmar in hopes the Bread Company across from Vintage Vinyl was still open. Sometimes, it was. Other times it wasn't, and she found herself walking what felt like miles to the Schnucks at 170. It wasn't a bad walk, just quiet. Most of the area was residential, a bit was offices. They were empty by five, and deserted by midnight. At 3 a.m., there weren't many on the streets.  
  
Ralph caught her coming back one morning, and got upset when he found that she wandered the streets alone.  
  
"Don't worry, I'm a killer ninja."  
  
"A gunshot is faster than a human."  
  
Only if the human was solid. But she couldn't say that. None of them knew she was a mutant, and she planned to keep it that way. She shrugged, "I'll live. I've never seen anyone anyway."  
  
"Just... find me, and I'll drive you next time, ok?"  
  
"Sure." She changed her smile to a slight smirk and tried out a leer on him. "Now, don't we have better things to do than argue?"  
  
He sighed, "Ingrate."  
  
"What, not interested anymore?" She pulled her shirt off, "Or just too tired."  
  
"Neither, wench. Prepare to be ravished."  
  
"Oh, sir! Be gentle!"  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
They'd taken samples of the blood on her hands and arms, swabbed every cut they could see, and removed dna from her mouth. To match with any dna evidence, apparently. She was numb to it, not caring. They wouldn't let her shower until they'd taken half a dozen photos of her half-naked and blood-covered body. The blood was beginning to itch as well as smell.  
  
One of the technicians finally seemed to notice her state, and came towards her, "You okay, honey?"  
  
"I'd like a shower, please."  
  
He nodded, "I'll have someone take you to the locker room. We'll need your clothes, so someone will bring you something to wear."  
  
"Soap?"  
  
"Dispenser on the wall."  
  
She nodded, "Thank you."  
  
Minutes later, she was covered in fluffy bits of foam as she worked her hair into a lather, hoping the soap was strong enough to wash out the blood and its smell. She used a paper towel for a washcloth, scrubbing at her arms and hands, picking at her nails until they broke up to the quick, the dried blood underneath falling into the drain with the shards. Scrubbing at her back hurt, the ribs on her left side protesting slightly. Probably bruised badly. She doubted the kick had fractured them.  
  
Her face was harder, so much of it bruised, both lips split. She'd probably have lovely black eyes in the morning. And her nose was sort of mushy, which worried her some.  
  
She scrubbed until her skin was pink from the abrasiveness of the succession of paper towels. The comfort of the warm water cascading on her skin was disorienting, once she paid attention to it. It felt... wrong.  
  
A tear slithered from one eye. Pain filling her chest, memories flashing through her mind. So much death, first them. And then the cop. The poor man hadn't done a damned thing, and she'd just killed him. So casually. Bowing her head, she cried, wishing the water could wash away the memories that not even the drugs had taken.  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
The last week of summer classes, Kitty finally wandered to the library, looking up methamphetamine, and other drugs. Her reading concluded that while there were some side-effects to speed, they weren't all worrying. It surprised her to find that alcohol seemed to do more damage. Of course, that was in large quantities, over a long period of time.  
  
One thing she'd seen did vaguely worry her, but amphetamine pyschosis sounded like it rarely happened. After all, you certainly didn't hear about kids hyped on meth going all psycho. It was more likely to be PCP or cocaine or heroin.  
  
She tried to limit her intake, for a while, but finals were coming, and all-night study sessions began taking their toll. And it began to take more and more speed for her to stay alert.  
  
Finally, it was over, there were two weeks until fall semester, and she stopped taking it.  
  
The first few days found her eating a lot, probably to make up for the lack of appetite (due to stress) she'd had for the previous week. A lot of sleep, too, filled with dreams that she didn't remember.  
  
Signing up for classes took up some of that lazy time. Hanging out with Mali and Ralph and their circle of friends took a little more.  
  
Kitty rarely talked, keeping her opinions and thoughts mainly to herself. Ralph heard some of them, but she began feeling isolated. She had once voiced those opinions, especially when there were debates about mutants. But her opinions were so often ignored, or just treated as coming from a stupid child, that she stopped. Ralph tried to explain when they were alone that his friends were just really nice, but opinionated.  
  
It helped, some. But she didn't fit in, just like always, and it began gnawing at her a little bit. Making friends with Mali, and then Ralph had been so easy she'd forgotten not everyone was nice all the time.  
  
Time passed, routine set in. Shoot up, study, have mad passionate sex. Repeat, ad nauseum. Kitty found herself growing more and more distant from contact with the outside world. Ralph was hers, and she his. In a way, he made her more alive and young than someone like Rigby--or even Pete Wisdom--could.  
  
She didn't know when they started mixing alcohol with the speed. Probably before mid-semester.  
  
But Kitty had always been willing to drink, to try anything set before her.  
  
This high was different. She felt as if she floated, and she stayed awake for days on end, amusing herself by scaring underclassmen with sneak attacks. Fading into the bushes should have been a no-no, but it was so silly of them to shriek.   
  
Her classes she did by rote, nearly. All of them with passing grades, but the professors seemed to wonder at her lack of sparkle in her papers. At least, those she had studied with previously seemed to notice. Kitty chalked it down to being so very tired all the time. The speed might have kept her awake when she needed it, but it sapped her energy.  
  
And then Sam visited, the weekend after mid-terms. They had a nice time, chatting about the old days. He asked after classes, she after X-Force. He left after turning down the offer to spend the night on their couch. Seemed he had an elsewhere to be.  
  
Kitty tried to feel sad, but felt only vaguely bored about it all.  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
It was Tabitha who brought him the paper. Samuel Guthrie tended to avoid it before he'd had his first cup of coffee. But for some reason, his lover was determined he should read it.   
  
"Give over," He mumbled, trying to set it to the side.  
  
"No. You've gotta read this, Guthrie."  
  
"Why?"  
  
She shook her head impatiently, "You just DO, idiot."  
  
He snorted, but finally took the paper to peruse.  
  
Front page news, above the fold. Big as life, the headline screamed at him. Kitty Pryde's face stared vacantly out of the school picture they'd dug up. She looked almost young, innocent.  
  
"'Mutant murders three in school killing. Washington University Campus officials appalled.'" He looked at Tabitha. "She's dead?"  
  
"No."  
  
And she wasn't. She was in police custody, pending investigation, and trial. The writer had tried terribly to be non-judgemental. It was a news story, after all. But there was an underlying tone of 'stupid mutie bitch', and Sam felt his skin crawl as he set the paper down. "Ah, Kitty..."  
  
"What're we gonna do, Sam?"  
  
He blindly caught Tabitha's hand and squeezed it gently. "Nothin'."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Nothing. There's nothing we *can* do, Tabitha. I'm sure the professor will deal with it."  
  
She snorted, "Oh, he'll deal with it all right. I'm sure Kitty will be thankful he's dealt with it when they're burning her alive at the stake."  
  
"They won't burn her. She's not a witch."  
  
"Near enough." Tabitha scowled at him.  
  
"Look, girl, Ah don't think--"  
  
"I do."   
  
He sighed. "Fine. I'll call the professor. See what--"  
  
"Yes, because he'll be all willing to help, like he was when you warned him."  
  
That stopped him, and he slowly began to nod as he stood.   
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"*I* am going to St. Louis."  
  
He never drank his coffee.  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
Samuel Guthrie wondered why he'd come. The reception into the mansion that housed the X-Men had been cool, as if they resented him for leaving their esteemed mentor. As if it were *his* fault he worked better with X-Force. And what he'd had to tell them didn't seem to be getting through.  
  
"I don't think I quite understand what you're saying, Samuel." Professor Charles Xavier steepled his fingers as his ex-pupil tried not to squirm.  
  
He called him Samuel to disgruntle him, most lieky. "Kitty, sir. Ah thought--she seemed extra tired."  
  
"She's taking a full course load."  
  
"It felt like more than that. And she was too thin--even mah sister would've agreed." He sighed, "There just seemed--something wrong."  
  
"Ah. And you came immediately to me. Tell me, do you like being a tattle tale, Samuel?"  
  
He gaped at the man, trying to understand how his simple concern had been so construed, "Sir, Ah--"  
  
"This matter is closed, Mr. Guthrie."  
  
Sam stood, fighting down his frustration, "If you say it is."  
  
"I do."  
  
"Then Ah'll be goin'."  
  
"Goodbye, Samuel."  
  
He stalked from the study, wondering if talking to Kurt Wagner would do any good. The blue-furred teleporter had been Kitty's companion in England, maybe... But he'd just dismiss him as Xavier had. After all, Sam was just a jealous little upstart. With a muttered curse, Sam shoved the idea from his mind and went back to the business of running X-Force.  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
The phone rang and rang, the machine finally picking up. Kitty almost cried as her mother's voice came over the line, stilted and cheerful in its recordedness. "Hello, you've reached 555-3417. I'm not here, but my cat is, Lauren will take your message." There was a meow, and then a long beep.  
  
"Hi, Mom. I--I did something horrible. I'm OK. I love you." she hung up before the tears sliding down her cheeks crept into her voice.  
  
The guard watching her held out a hand, "Time to go back." There was almost a sympathy lurking in the woman's eyes, but it was gone a moment later.  
  
"Yes. Thank you."  
  
She'd been moved to a different cell, this one deeper in the complex. More difficult to escape from, she assumed. Not that she would escape. The idea was both preposterous, and... she should pay for what she'd done. Three people were dead...  
  
"Time to go back for more discussion, miss."  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
She was already floating on meth, a good strong dose drifting down her veins. Why Mali had to.... Maybe she should have waited. Or maybe it was better this way. They were arguing, Kitty dimly aware that this should bother her. Instead, she felt almost amused.  
  
"Well at least I'm not a god-damned Mutie lover!"  
  
Kitty felt the world tilt, the puzzle it made in her head settling into a different configuration. Irritatingly, there were still pieces missing. "You're one of Them, aren't you." She said dreamily. "Not content with extermination 50 years ago, you try hatred again and again, perpetuating it against me and my people."  
  
"The fuck are you talking about, Pryde?"  
  
"My people--so many were killed in the Death Camps. And you want to start that all over. Mutant registration. Pure blood."  
  
"Uh... yeah. Riiight." Mali began to back away, the look in Kitty's eyes scaring her. There was a disconnectedness to her roommate, as if she wasn't all there. It was a very wrong thing to see.  
  
"Don't walk away from me, bitch!" Kitty caught her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall with frightening speed. "You shouldn't've said that, y'know." Her fingers stroked through Mali's terrified face. "Can't have you reporting this to Them. Sorry. It's nothing personal."  
  
And she was, Mali sensed. Sorry. Uncaring. There was something greater in control of her friend, a deep sorrow and anguish that went back years. In her eyes was every hell visited upon mutants. It was the last thing Mali saw.  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
They had questioned her for hours, pain and disgust leaking off of them. Disdain for her, for what she was: murdering drug-addicted mutant bitch. The Jewish part might even have added to it. Each one was a label she couldn't escape, no matter how she tried. In her mind's eye...  
  
Her refuge was the cold numbness that had filled her after the shower. It kept the jagged edges of emotion from tearing her to shreds.  
  
Memory was little comfort, her mind playing that scene in the street over and over again.  
  
The cold distanced her, turning it into something someone else might have done.  
  
He had been so cute, young for an officer of the law. And so surprised with his heart in her hand. Wrenching reality dropped on her, and she fought it off, wishing for the oblivion to return.  
  
"Are you listening, Ms. Pryde?"  
  
No. She stared at the man on the other side of the table. He was so tired. And he'd been on the scene, too. "I missed it. Sorry."  
  
He sighed tiredly, "Do you understand the rights I've read you?"  
  
"Yes." Not really. But every American had some vague knowledge about anything they said being used against them in a court of law. She tried to care. But couldn't. She'd lost too much.  
  
"Then in a moment, a guard will come to take you down to the holding area. She'll book you and take your picture."  
  
"OK." The cold was slowly seeping back in. Distantly, she wondered if she would ever feel her fingers again.  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
Someone was calling her name. *They* always seemed to know it, no matter how well she hid. Irritating.  
  
"Kitty? C'mon, you should be here. I thought you'd said you would." Ralph sounded petulant, even to himself. As he entered the living room, he brightened, seeing Mali sitting in her favourite chair. "Mali, my dear. Have you seen Kitty?"  
  
It was one of those over-stuffed types that stood on freakily spindly legs. He'd always thought her silly for liking it. "Mali?"  
  
Again, there was no reply from the seated girl. He sighed, "Look, I--" He paused, mind finally focussing on several things at once. There was a scent in the air of fear and... blood. And Mali wasn't sitting on the chair. She was.... inside of it. Partially. His brain fought not to recognise what it was seeing. It failed. His mouth opened in a wordless cry as he realised that blood soaked the dull yellow carpet below the chair, turning it a dark orange.  
  
"Oh my god. Oh my god." He touched her, unaware he'd moved closer until his hand caused her head to flop to the side. Her eyes stared up at him, empty. He fought down the bile rising in his throat. The blood smell in the air made it that much worse.  
  
He turned away. "Mali. I'll--the police. Need a phone. Ohgodohgod. You have to be ok."  
  
"Your god can't help you now."  
  
The voice came from behind him. He whirled. "Kitty! You--" It was her eyes. They stopped him cold. The warm brown was gone, replaced with something far chillier. Agate. Yellow. They were the wrong colour, the wrong vibrancy. Her pupil was so dilated that there was only the slight ring around them.  
  
"What about me, lover?" She asked, reaching out to caress his cheek.  
  
"Kitty, what's going on--Mali--"  
  
"She tried to tell Them about me. I had to stop her, you understand there was no other way." She tilted her head, lips smiling at him, eyes still blackly cold.  
  
"But she's DEAD."  
  
"Yes. Pity that. Oh, well. I never liked that chair, anyway."  
  
"What about the carpet?"  
  
"Yellow is so passe."  
  
He hit her, determined to wipe that smugly blank look off her face. It scared him. His hand passed *through* her, causing him to go off-balance. He staggered. She took advantage and stepped into him, her hands finding the correct holds to send him flying into a wall. "Silly Ralph. Didn't your mother tell you never to hit a woman? She'll always hit you back."  
  
A framed photo of the three of them fell, the glass shattered. Shoving against the wall, Ralph staggered to his feet. A trickle of blood escaped a shallow cut on the side of his face, but he ignored the sting. Terror touched him, causing him to remember the last time his supplier had sent someone to reduce him to paste over some stupid accounting squabble.  
  
Kitty wasn't sane.  
  
There would be no buying her off. Considering the evidence of Mali, he probably wouldn't live to bribe another cop.  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
"There was blood on your computer keys. Why?"  
  
Questions, again. This time by a serious-faced young man. He was so earnest, so willing to help. If she believed that, it might be simpler to just step into the two-way mirror and never come out again.  
  
"I sent an email to a friend." Pete would have sneered at that description. But it was simpler than the truth. Lover, ex-lover, friend, confidante, bastard...  
  
"Ah. We have been trying to get that file open--and others."  
  
What a stupid thing to say. As if he couldn't believe she'd have friends. "Why?"  
  
He coughed, uncomfortable, "I'm asking the questions."  
  
"Oh." So, ask them, you idiot.  
  
"Why email this friend?"  
  
"Because."  
  
"That's not an answer."  
  
She focussed on him, almost amused, "It's the only one I have." Over his shoulder, she could see the glass, and wondered vaguely what the men behind it were thinking.  
  
"Very well." He pondered her, eyes noticing the tiny marks, the scars on her wrists and hands from badly applied needles. "What happened?"  
  
Everything. "Too much." Knowing about it was different from remembering, she told herself firmly. For a moment, though, the ice cracked and the naive 13-year old who'd thought her power was nifty keen tried to scream. She fought, refreezing before that could leak out. "I -- we were going to go out. Ralph and I."  
  
"And?"  
  
"I wasn't in a great mood, I... I took some Methamphetamine. Maybe too much. To try and feel better, more in control. Mali was there, she started picking at me, mocking my drug dependancy." She paused, "I was so sure, you know, that I wasn't a druggie. The whole idea disgusts me. I could quit anytime." A half-sob escaped the control, "I'm such a fucking idiot."  
  
"You and Mali were fighting?"  
  
"Not at first. Then she made the comment that Ralph was only fucking me to pay for my drug habit. And I slapped her. She..." Kitty looked away from him, the memory slithering across her inner eye, "She said something that made me think she knew I was a mutant. And she was planning to out me. It goes a bit hazy, there. But I..."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"I think I snapped. Things changed, time stopped."  
  
Maybe if she approached it obliquely, worked up to it...  
  
"And then you killed her?"  
  
Maybe not.  
  
"Yes. I phased her--into the chair. The screams--my god--" Her voice choked, memory wrapping her in sticky folds. She couldn't see him anymore, the room fading into the background as Mali stared up at her in shock. "I didn't know people could sound like that."  
  
"What happened next?" The calm analytical voice cut through the sticky memory.  
  
"Ralph arrived. I--I killed him, too."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I think--" She frowned. "I thought he knew I was a mutant, that he was going to tell." Kitty looked at him, her eyes focussing again. "Don't. I don't want that sort of leniency. No insanity plea, no, duress plea. I killed my two best friends. I deserve to die."  
  
He blinked, "Tell me about the policeman."  
  
The colour drained from her already pale face. "If there was anything else that damned me..." She looked into her memory and shuddered. "I held his heart in my hand--I had so much power..."  
  
He touched her arm. "He was just there?"  
  
"Yes. NO. Sort of. Any of them--that's what hurts. I could have killed any of them and not cared."  
  
"Because of drugs."  
  
"That's a stupid thing to say." She snorted, "Yes. No. Because. Maybe. The drugs merely gave the possibilites free reign. I already had the potential for evil, and that's what counts, isn't it."  
  
He sighed. "You enjoyed it?"  
  
"Yes. I did." She finally lost her battle, the amusement fading into pain and sadness. Memory broke through the ice again, and she buried her face in hands as blood pooled in the yellow carpet again and again.  
  
Dimly, she heard him sigh again, then speak softly. "Interview terminated."  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
The cursor was blinking at her, as if waiting for the next line to come. There weren't anymore lines, though. Not for her, not for Mali, not for Ralph. Kitty choked on bile and turned away from the accusing screen. Her gaze crossed over the blood on the carpet, and she lost the battle.  
  
Scrambling up, she ran, half-falling against the wall as she tripped over Ralph's foot. The floor seemed a good enough place to lose her breakfast. It hadn't been all that heavy, anyway.  
  
A sound from outside made her crawl to the window, and she blinked, recognising the lights.  
  
They had come for her.  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
Ororo Munroe looked up at the slate-grey edifice of St. Louis's city jail. It wasn't precisely ugly. It was more... tired and dilapidated. Nearby, she could see the towering structure of the newer jail which was still unfinished. Now, IT, was ugly. All orange stone and shining windows. It reminded one of nothing so much as a giant phallus.  
  
Ignoring it, Storm entered the building in front of her. The guard at the desk seemed genial, even after he heard who she had come to visit. Mutant terrorists were apparently old hat for him. He called another guard--this one female--and she led Storm back to the visitors' room.  
  
The room was long, stretching out on both sides with small cubicles down the lengthy center. In the middle of the cubicles plexiglass seperated the visitors from the inmates.  
  
Storm sat down at the one she was directed to, and waited. It wasn't nerves anymore. She was calm now, ready for anything she saw. Knowing everything you saw on TV and in the movies, she expected Kitty to be beaten and scared. Maybe even filthy.  
  
Movement came from the other side of the plexiglass, and Kitty appeared, a guard leading her. Storm watched her sit down, the collar around her neck so very disturbing. It's little red LED blinked every so often, if it was almost hypnotic. Kitty herself looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the skin on her face seemed stretched across fragile bones. But she wasn't scared.  
  
Picking up the phone as directed, Storm said softly, "Kitten."  
  
"Ororo."  
  
"You look unwell."  
  
A soft laugh echoed up the phoneline. "I killed three people with my mutant powers."  
  
"Oh, Kitty..."  
  
"You should be disappointed, Ororo. I killed. For no reason. Hell--I took drugs. Even when I knew it was a bad idea."  
  
"I am sad."  
  
"Yes, well, I'm sure there's a lot of that going around." She looked away, as if bored.  
  
"Kitten--"  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
"To see you." Concern echoed in Ororo's voice as she tried to understand what she could say that would return her Kitten to her.  
  
"Well, now you have. You can go back to the Professor and tell him what a monumental failure I am. Like David and Guthrie and X-Force."  
  
"Kitten, this isn't like you."  
  
She half-laughed, "I have blood under my fingernails, Ororo. How is anything supposed to be like me?"  
  
"They haven't allowed you to bathe?"  
  
"No one can see it, soap doesn't get rid of it." Her voice broke, then, turning harsh with unshed tears, "I smell it at night, thick and cloying. And so sticky on my fingers..."  
  
"Oh, Goddess..."  
  
Kitty shook her head. "She's given me no quarter--I deserve no quarter."  
  
With a sigh, Storm stood. "I must go and consult, Kitten. I shall visit you tomorrow."  
  
"You do that." But she didn't seem to care, standing up and turning away even as Ororo tried to reach out to her, encountering the plexiglass.   
  
"Kitten..."  
  
--  
  
Feeling vaguely as if he should be watching over his shoulder, Sam made his way into the visiter's room. Perhaps it was his past as a mutant terrorist, but the police station made him vaguely uncomfortable.  
  
Kitty was already there, slumped in a chair, absently looking at nothing. He noted the circles and bruises under her eyes and sat down.  
  
"You look like shit."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Sam sighed. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Nothing you could have done." Kitty looked away from him. "I did this to myself, Sam."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You didn't have to agree so quickly."  
  
They were both silent, then, each studying the other. Sam found a part of himself deeply saddened at the changes in Kitty. The once vibrant girl was too pale and lifeless, and her eyes were old now. As if she'd seen too much, and couldn't ever forget it. He noticed her hands as she clenched one. Pink, chapped skin. As if she were using abrasives on them. The knuckles were skinned badly, and her cuticles looked as if she'd chewed them.  
  
"Something wrong, Guthrie?"  
  
"Your hands."  
  
"I can't wash the blood off." She looked at them, picking at one fingernail. "I've tried, but I can still see it. Still smell it."  
  
He winced, recognising that there was something damaged in her eyes. Like Domino, Kitty had seen and done one thing too many. Only, Domino could come back from it. Kitty... Kitty couldn't. He could see it in her eyes, the way she moved. The trembling in her hands that she tried to hide as she moved them restlessly.  
  
"Kitty..."  
  
She shook her head, "Don't, Sam. There's nothing to do. Nothing to say. I killed, I'll pay for it."   
  
Grimacing, Sam looked away. A reminder, again. Ex-mutant terrorists... But she hadn't meant him. Probably didn't care, or wouldn't. And it was in the past. Far in the past. They were doing good now. He had to believe that. "Why?"  
  
"You want me to make excuses? My parents didn't love me, I'm a mutant, I never fit in, I never had one lousy date in high school--there's a thousand reasons, Guthrie. In the end... I just did it. It's over. It's done with."  
  
"Is it?"  
  
"Yes." She nodded emphatically. "It has to be. I can't, I can't--I can't deal with this, Sam. I can't live with myself if I don't pay. If it isn't over."  
  
"And if it never is."  
  
Her eyes widened, and she shuddered. "I'll go insane."  
  
"Aren't you already insane?" He asked mildly.  
  
Kitty's lips whitened. "I know what I've done. Oh, god, I wish I were insane, sometimes. But I'm not. I'm perfectly sane." She ducked her head, tucking her chin into her collarbone. "It will never go away."  
  
A soft cough interrupted them, and a guard was there to tell them her time was up.  
  
"I'll be back, Kitty."  
  
"Sure."   
  
He touched the glass, wishing he could hug her. "I will."  
  
--  
  
Then  
  
"Mali?"  
  
"Hrm?"  
  
Lazy sunlight, accompanied by a warm breeze drifted over the two young women as they sprawled under the shade of a tree on campus. Kitty tried to remember her question, and failed. So she asked something else, instead. "Have you ever wanted to fly?"  
  
"If we were supposed to fly, where are the wings?"  
  
Unbidden came the image of Warren Worthington, metal bladed wings spread as he arced through the sky.   
  
"Point."  
  
"Besides. Birds fly. We merely get high."  
  
Mali's life philosophy was terribly unsophisticated, Kitty decided. "So... We should live, get high, and die?"  
  
"And screw. A lot. And eat chocolate, pizza, and marmalade."  
  
"Ugh."  
  
"Not all at once."  
  
"But--"  
  
"No buts, missy."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
Mali snorted, and tossed a handful of grass at her. "Anyway. Life is good."  
  
"If you say so."  
  
"I do."  
  
--  
  
Now  
  
Perhaps it was the very nature of the crime that let them go to trial so quickly. But Kitty was convicted of murder exactly two weeks after she'd first been arrested. The jury were of a rather volatile opinion--they wanted to see the mutant burn. The judge was slightly more lenient, perhaps guessing that the defendant was forever damaged by her actions.  
  
She was given life in prison, with no chance for parole.   
  
That night, they finally slipped up. They left her just enough for her purposes. And Katherine Pryde left the world, needle in her arm, vacant stare in her eyes.  
  
An overdose, some said. Deliberate suicide, came from others. For Sam it was the final confirmation that some people were not capable of being fixed. No matter how much you wanted them to be.  
  
Ororo Munroe left the states for France, where she buried herself in the mountains.  
  
In Westchester, Professor Charles Xavier sat in his study, and wept.  
  
And, somewhere, near Skokie, IL, one woman read the obituary. Stone-faced, she cut the piece from the paper, then shredded it. After all, as her one call to St. Louis had made very clear, her daughter was no longer her responsibility.  
  
--  
  
Epilogue  
Now  
  
Pete Wisdom staggered into his flat. This last mission for WHO had taken a hell of a lot longer than they'd thought it would. All he wanted was a shower, a bottle of whiskey, and bed. Not necessarily in that order.  
  
His computer was on, he noted absently as he passed it. He must've left it on when he'd left. Maybe because he thought he'd be back soon. He shuddered at the thought of how much crap it'd probably accumulated, sitting on all this time. With a sigh, he detoured, intending to shut it down before sleeping.  
  
The little mail icon was flashing in the corner. Curiosity won out over exhaustion. He clicked on it.  
  
To: PWisdom@WHOnet.com  
From: K.Pryde@wustl.edu  
Subject: Something is very wrong.  
  
Pete. Something awful has happened. Maybe you can make sense. I can't. I miss you.  
  
Please.  
  
Kitty.  
  
Attachment: diary.txt  
  
*  
  
I don't know why I'm doing this. It's not something I would normally do. And, I don't know why--am I doing this for me? So I can come back and read this later, when I'm... gone?  
  
My children? I don't want kids. Really..  
  
And, and... Pete. Pete never wanted kids. Why am I thinking of Pete? Fuckhead left me. he fucking LEFT.  
  
he left.  
  
And I'm here. Now. High on.. something. I don't know what it is anymore. I don't know what I want--Ralph is nice. But, but...  
  
Who am I?  
  
*  
  
I'm sober today. It's... not fun. I feel like I could jump out of my skin. Mali says it's normal. I don't like it. There's no safe feeling. No blanket comforting me. There's just... me. and the world.  
  
This diary, journal, whatever... I begin to think it's a mistake. But it's scary, sometimes, looking over what's here. This is me, though. And I have to understand me.  
  
Love me.  
  
Whatever.  
  
*  
  
Is it normal for things to go black while you're giving a presentation? The nurse thinks I'll be fine. Me, I don't know. Mali's said she'll get Ralph soon. I hope so.  
  
*  
  
i can see the stars all of them are blue they love me.  
  
*  
  
I put this in an encryption. I'm glad, the school is starting to run programs to read people's hard drives--those connected to the network by email. That's what I was told, anyway. Not a clue if it's true. Better safe than sorry, I always say. And besides. My diary, my information.  
  
I heard they look for information on drugs. Trying to stop people like Ralph, I guess. Except that Ralph is completely computer illiterate. So I guess they're going after me, instead.  
  
Lucky I started this with it 'crypted.  
  
*  
  
I don't know why I'm recording this. Maybe because I feel the need to torture you. Me. Me. Not you. Who is this you, anyway? Like I'd... Like I could send this anywhere.  
  
*  
  
Sam came to visit today. He didn't say why--or rather, he said he was just in the area. Right. Xavier checking up on his Failure again, I'm sure.  
  
Luckily, he didn't bring the rest of the X-Brats with him. I might have had to kill Tabitha. Or she might have noticed...  
  
Yana would have, once. She would have noticed the circles under my eyes, the track marks on my arms... My god, when did I get so pathetic?  
  
Screw it. Ugly or not, stupid or not... This is me. A Failure.  
  
Xavier's.  
  
*  
  
Pete. Help me. There's no going back anymore. What I've done... Oh, god. Someone's here.  
  
--  
  
It ended, there. And he blinked, staring at it. Kitty. Drunk? High? It boggled his mind. He'd never thought she'd go in for that sort of thing. With a yawn, he shut the computer down. Best to deal with whatever it was in the morning.  
  
Besides. It was over two weeks old. Whatever had happened was dead news now.  
  
-finis-  
  
Final notes: I'm blanking on the page numbers and textbook name I've based some of this off of. *headshake* I think I'm too tired to remember. But. One of the things I do remember (and something which did NOT make it in here) is that amphetamine psychosis is.... basically paranoid schizophrenia, in effect. It can cause the person suffering from it to hurt themselves, those around them--even those they love.   
  
I'm afraid I probably cut a few corners. No matter.  
  
Ciao. 


End file.
